


I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

by jouissant



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/pseuds/jouissant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim can't dance. Spock comes to his rescue, for the greater good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You

**Author's Note:**

> Title and partial inspiration from the song "I'm Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance with You" by Black Kids.
> 
> For a prompt at st_xi_kink_meme @ livejournal asking for Jim trying to teach Spock to dance and Spock refusing.

Spock does not know how he allowed himself to be dragged into this. Shore leave as a concept is mystifying to him; he has gone on record as stating the illogic of physical activity in the name of "rest", but per usual his reasoning has fallen on deaf ears. The rest of the Alpha shift crew of the _Enterprise_ is human, for better or worse. In this case, "worse" means they want to go out dancing.

"SPOCK. Spock. Come on. It's going to be awesome. I can't wait to get a couple Cardassian Sunrises in me, get out on the dance floor, and dance 'til I can't stand up."

"If previous instances are any indication, Captain, it will be the Cardassian Sunrises rather than the physical activity that render you incapacitated."

"Details, details. But come! Please come? Please don't spend shore leave sitting in your quarters again."

"Sitting in my quarters, _resting_, is a most efficacious use of free time."

"Yeah, but it's _boring_. And it makes me sad for you. Besides, Uhura wants you to come. She told me."

"_Nyota_ understands my opinion on your preferred use of leave time. I find it highly unlikely that-"

"OK, OK, maybe she didn't actually _say_ that. But everyone thinks you need to get out more."

"Jim, must I reiterate my failure to comprehend the human obsession with avoiding 'boredom'?"

"No. Because you're boring. It's logical that you wouldn't understand wanting to avoid that particular state."

"My daily routine is both intellectually and physically stimulating. Unnecessary deviation is thus-"

"Illogical, yeah, I know." Jim sighs. "Please? It won't be the same if you don't come. Who am I going to exchange meaningful glances with when Chekov gets drunk and tries to dry-hump someone on the dancefloor? Who's going to help me drag Bones back up to the ship?"

"Will that not conflict with your plans to 'dance until you cannot stand up'?"

"We'll figure something out. Or, hey, I can teach you! Then we can dance it up _and_ at least one of us will be sober enough to deal with any eventualities. At least think about it!" He turns and walks jauntily off down the corridor, snapping his fingers to a rhythm only he can hear.

In the end, Spock decides he should not be surprised that he agrees to the outing. It is, after all, demonstrably difficult for him to say no to Jim.

****

The 'club' Jim selects is dark and smoky. Spock's eyes start watering immediately, and he lets out a little sigh, checking his chrono. Four hours until the establishment closes. Beside him, Jim is bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Can you feel the beat, Spock? This is going to be _great_."

"It feels like the ship during an ion storm."

Jim rolls his eyes. "What do you want to drink? I'm buying first round, guys."

Several Cardassian Sunrises later, Jim makes good on his promise to "hit the dancefloor".   
He has carved out a wide berth for himself in the tight press of bodies. Spock does not know much about dancing; he decides that perhaps personal space is afforded according to rank, but not all the dancers are crewmembers on the ship, and Jim is wearing civilian clothes. Perplexing, thinks Spock to himself. As the captain narrowly misses colliding with a drink-laden Andorian server, and the crowd draws back still further, Spock concludes that he has some questions.

Nyota is standing with Lieutenant Commander Scott at the edge of the dance floor. The room is loud, so Spock touches her lightly on the shoulder to draw her attention. She turns to him with a smile. "Hey!" she shouts. "Are you having fun?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nods. "However, I am concerned about the Captain," he says loudly into Nyota's ear.

"Jim? Why? He's a little drunk, but he looks fine to me."

"Nyota, I am unfamiliar with some human social customs. I have seen you dance on several occasions, and cannot help but notice…differences."

"What, you mean like the fact that she doesn't flail about like an octopus on ice skates?" Scott interjects. "Nyota has _training_. She's a professional." Nyota pats his arm.   
"Well, let's not go overboard, but I appreciate the compliment, Scotty."

She turns to Spock.

"Jim's…not a very good dancer."

"He's _terrible_," adds Scott gleefully. "Have you seen Keenser break-dance? Now _there's_ a good dancer."

"What did Jim tell you about his dancing skills? No, wait, don't tell me, he said they were awesome, or some variant thereof." Spock nods.

"Oh, god, did he offer to teach you?"

Spock nods again.

"OK, first of all, under no circumstances should you take dancing lessons from Jim Kirk. Second, it looks like he just plowed into those Ferengi. They're about to throw drinks in his face. Maybe you should go intervene."

This, Spock understands. "He does look as if he is enjoying himself. I should regret…"

Scott reaches across Nyota and grabs Spock's arm. "Please, Spock. The needs of the many."

Resigned, he turns back toward Jim. It appears the Ferengi have already hit their target. Spock shakes his head. "Thank you for your assistance, Nyota. Mr. Scott."

*******

"What the _hell_?" Jim splutters. "Those guys came out of nowhere." He shakes his head from side to side. "I think I have vodka tonic in my ears."

"Perhaps this obscenely loud music has rendered permanent damage," offers Spock dryly. They are in the bathroom, where Jim has removed his soaked shirt. Spock is attempting to dab liquid from the captain's bare chest with mysteriously shaky hands.

"Are you OK? Your hands are shaking."

"I am merely attempting to restrain fits of laughter at the ridiculousness of this situation."

"Are not," Jim says, slurring slightly. "You don't laugh."

"No," says Spock quietly. "I do not."

Later, he will swear his hand moves entirely of its own volition. He reaches up and gently tucks a sodden strand of Jim's hair behind his ear. Slowly, slowly, he leans in and presses a kiss to Jim's temple.

"Spock? What are you doing?"

"I do not know."

He kisses along Jim's jawline, the curve of his throat, his adams-apple.

He kisses Jim languidly on the mouth, then pulls back to see a wide-eyed Jim Kirk gaping at him. There are a few stray pieces of lime in his hair. A grin spreads slowly across his face.

"You're just trying to keep me from going back out there, aren't you."

"Indeed."

"It's working."

END


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